


Inevitability

by TrenchWarfare



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Law Enforcement, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Prison, Spicy Roxas, Stalking, Supernatural Elements, Trans Character, Urban Fantasy, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7097854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrenchWarfare/pseuds/TrenchWarfare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Axel can see the blond tilt his head, watches the rise of his shoulders as he inhales deeply. He turns his head just enough that Axel can see the flash of fangs in his wide grin.</p>
<p>“Axel,” he breathes. He sounds delighted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inevitability

**Author's Note:**

> Holy smokes I can't believe this is finally done. This was meant to be a short drabble for my friend, but it very quickly grew out of control. 
> 
> A few things before you read this:  
> -The stalking and attempted rape tags are not for the main pairing, nor are they graphic, but they are present  
> -The mildly dubious consent tag is because the main character believes he may have been coerced into a relationship, but he was not. The tag is there because he believes it for a portion of this story, so his emotions might possibly be triggering.

Axel’s driven past this building countless times.

It’s a warehouse, big and nondescript and functional even. He knows for a fact that most of the workers aren’t aware of the high security supernatural prison beneath the surface.

Axel put a lot of the prisoners in there. Maybe more than he could count. (That’s a lie, he’s always painfully aware of the number. 38.) Despite that, he only really cares about one of them. He breathes in, deep and long, and holds it, trying to convince himself that his preoccupation with him is only because of the case.

Axel lingers outside for a few moments, deliberately not thinking about those few months where he was tempted to move to a new apartment so he wouldn’t have to drive past this place everyday. Or those other few months where he stopped here everyday, sitting in his car, hands, white-knuckled on the steering wheel, the only thing stopping Axel from getting out of the car and demanding to see him.

“Do you need some help, sir?” someone asks him. She looks like a foreman, carrying herself with the kind of authority that screams of command. The clipboard also helps. She’s looking at him with a familiar kind of pity that always makes Axel bristle, “do you want me to call someone?

Axel flashes his most charming smile at her, fighting the urge the run his fingers through his hair, hand fisting his car keys, “I’m here to see Ansem,”

“Oh!” she says, face flushing in embarrassment, “I thought-“

“It’s alright, I get that a lot,” he interrupts, not wanting to hear it. Axel understands the surprise, even if he doesn’t like it. He knows what people assume when they see his hair, he’s seen other victims (and, god, does he hate that word) wandering the streets, lost and confused, their red hair marking them, othering them, but Axel’s always hated the way it makes people look at him.

No one really knows why a vampire bite turns a victim’s hair red, but Axel’s always thought it ironic, having to see the color of blood in the mirror everyday, framing his own face the way it framed…

Well, irony’s one word for it.

“Do you need some help finding his office?” the foreman puts a hand on his bicep, a kind smile on her face. Axel tries not to wince at her condescending tone, but he doesn’t stop himself from shrugging away from her touch.

“I think I can manage,” he says, voice cold even through the smile still fixed on his face.

Axel squares his shoulder and makes his way through the floor of the warehouse, letting the stares and whispers glance off of him.

Ansem’s office is in the back, tucked between towering shelves and away from prying eyes. Axel knocks on the door with three short raps.

“Come in,” a deep voice calls. Axel smooths his palms down his thighs and straightens up before walking in.

“Sir,” Axel says, stopping in front of the desk, back ramrod straight.

“Agent Keahi, I’m sorry that you had to do this,” Ansem doesn’t sound very sorry. Axel has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. The only reason he doesn’t is because, technically, Ansem has a higher rank than him. Plus, this is his territory. Axel is at a disadvantage.

“I’m happy to help,” Axel asks, voice stiff. It’s hard to get the words out past the lump in his throat. He hasn’t talked about him in years.

Ansem gives him a once over, eyes pausing on his hair, “I’m sure,” Ansem says and Axel clenches his fists, nails digging into his palms, “I’m correct in assuming you’ve never visited before?” Ansem’s voice is lofty, detached. Axel desperately wishes he could care less about this too.

 “Yes, sir,” he forces out, “never really had a reason to.”

“Well,” Ansem walks over to a panel in the wall and presses his palm against it. Part of the wall slides back to reveal an elevator, “I’m sure the bureau appreciates your effort,”

“I wouldn’t know, sir,” Axel tries not to grit his teeth. His palms start sweating as soon as his feet cross the threshold into the elevator.

“Yes, I wouldn’t imagine they tell the peons much,” Ansem says. Axel bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t say something that will get him fired.

The elevator drifts to a silent stop and the doors glide open, revealing a security office full of monitors. Each of them show the camera feed of a separate cell, some show hallways, and the picture changes every few seconds to show a different angle. Axel settles his gaze on Ansem, refusing to search out a specific inmate.

“Ienzo,” Ansem says to a man seated in front of the monitors, “this is Agent Keahi, he’s here to question the vampire,”

Ienzo is short and young, probably even younger than Axel himself, with gray-ish, blue-ish, purple-ish hair that’s swept over half of his face. His eyes don’t linger on Axel’s own hair, which instantly earns him Axel’s respect.

“Yes, sir,” Ienzo says, voice flat, “I’ll call Braig to escort him,”

“Thank you,” Ansem doesn’t sound very thankful, “I trust you will explain the rules,” it’s not a question, but Ienzo nods anyway.

“We will be watching you,” Ansem says to Axel, nodding at the displays.

“I understand,” Axel tastes blood, the metallic tang unmistakable. Ansem isn’t subtle.

A lot of people see the red hair and make assumptions. They think that he’s some vampire’s plaything, willing to do anything to be bitten or fucked or both.

And Axel understands that, except he doesn’t really. The ones like that, because they do exist, loathe as he is to admit, are under thrall, a compulsion placed on them by the vampire. Even if they are like that, they need help, not derision.

There are others too, ones who’ve escaped the thrall, but who developed a dependency, an addiction. So they go looking for vampires to bite them, desperate for that connection, that _high_. They need help too.

Ienzo had stepped aside to radio someone, but now he nods to Axel, “Braig is waiting for you through there. He’ll explain the rules,”

Axel nods back and goes through the door. Two men are waiting for him, one a big, hulking guy with a metal detector wand in his hand, the other an older guy with a scar on his face, black hair pulled back into a ponytail.

“You must be the FBI dude,” Ponytail says, “I’m Braig, this is Aeleus,” he nods at the big guy, “he’s going to make sure you’re not bringing in any weapons or things that could be used to harm or maim,”

Axel lifts his arms and spreads his legs a little. Aeleus gets to work without a word.

“There are a few things you need to know,” Braig says easily, leaning against a wall, “the prisoner’s cell is on the other side of the compound. Do not make eye contact with any of the other prisoners on the way,”

“I thought there was only one vampire,” Axel says gruffly as Aeleus pats down his leg, from his thigh to his ankle and back again.

“There is, but,” Braig smirks, “we don’t want you to agitate any of the other prisoners you’ve put in here,”

“Right,”

“Once we reach the prisoner’s cell, you are not to touch the glass. You are not allowed to give him anything. You cannot step beyond the yellow line,”

“Got it,” Axel says and Aeleus finally steps back, apparently satisfied, he nods to Braig.

They start walking, Braig leading him through the maze of hallways. Axel keeps his eyes on Braig’s back, his chest growing tighter with every step, every inch.

“I’m not sure what you think you’re going to get out of him,” Braig says after about five minutes of identical hallways.

“He doesn’t talk?” Axel asks. He’s already been told as much in the briefing, but a guard might have more information than a manila folder.

“Not about anything interesting,” Braig throws his hands up, like he’s dismayed by all of the hot serial killer gossip that he’s not privy to, “he just goes on and on about this _guy,”_

Axel stiffens, stumbling a little, “what guy?”

Braig makes a rather unattractive raspberry noise, “Some dude named Axel. He’ll talk for ages about him,” he doesn’t seem to have noticed that Axel stopped and his voice takes on a higher pitch, “’Oh, Axel doesn’t like spicy food,’ ‘Axel snores when he has a cold, isn’t that cute?’ No, it’s not! None of us care about his little boyfriend.”

Braig’s voice fades as he gets farther down the hall. Axel feels like his blood has frozen, chills sealing his bones in place, seeping into his muscles. He never imagined…

But this doesn’t change anything, Axel swallows thickly, ignores the pain that lodged itself solid in his stomach, and speed walks to catch up to Braig. He gets there just before they reach a door.

It’s the only one in a radius of about thirty feet. It’s a slightly lighter shade of grey than the walls that surround it, making it seem innocuous, like the person who ruined Axel’s life isn’t behind that door.

Braig smirks at him and with a quick, practiced move he slides his keycard through the reader and the lock clicks.

There’s no turning back now. There hasn’t been, really. Not since he got here. Not since the trial. Not since the arrest even. This was an inevitability.

It’s almost a relief to think of it that way. To shift the blame like that. It almost lets him ignore the way he wants to run in there and collapse at his feet. It’s not his fault.

He just needs help.

Axel nods resolutely, more to himself than to Braig, but Braig returns the nod with a shit-eating grin regardless. He steps inside.

Braig follows, closing the door behind him with a soft hiss of air and Axel finally looks up.

The cell itself is a good ten feet away, a thick sheet of glass separating them from the blond sitting on the floor, back against the barrier. There’s a metal blindfold secured across his eyes with a heavy looking padlock.

Axel can see the blond tilt his head, watches the rise of his shoulders as he inhales deeply. He turns his head just enough that Axel can see the flash of fangs in his wide grin.

“Axel,” he breathes. He sounds delighted.

“Roxas,” Axel greets, concentrating on keeping his voice even, “why the blindfold?” he directs this at Braig.

“He tried to enthrall a lot of guards early on. S’why it’s so hard to imprison a vampire, y’know?” Braig is leaning against the wall farthest from the cell, all of his earlier easiness all but gone, “we tried removing his eyes, but they kept growing back. The blindfold is Even’s invention.”

Axel feels a flash of rage, but he squashes it in favor on approaching the cell. He stops with his toes just on the yellow line, just out of arms reach if the cell had been made of bars.

“Roxas,” Axel repeats, softer.

Roxas shifts a little, so it’s his shoulder, not his back, that’s leaning against the glass. Axel can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from the profile that he presents.

“You came,” Roxas says, voice a little breathless, “I was starting to lose hope,”

“I didn’t come here for you,” Axel says. His shoulders are starting to ache from how tense he’s carrying himself.

Roxas’s mouth downturns, Axel tries to ignore the way it makes his throat close up, “didn’t you though? Come for me?” he tilts his head up and Axel knows that if he removed the blindfold, Roxas’s eyes would be locked onto his.

He wishes he could ignore how his fingers are itching to do just that.  

“I don’t do anything for you,” Axel spits, more vehement than intended.

“Sure,” a smirk curls his lips, “if that helps you sleep at night,” Roxas’s voice is full of restrained laughter, like he knows exactly how much it _doesn’t_ help him sleep.

“What do you know about a man named Saix?” Axel asks, eager to get out of there and go home… maybe, except… not that eager, but still.

“You never called,” Roxas says.

“What?”

“You never called,” Roxas sighs and lets himself slide lower to the ground.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Axel wants to pace, wants to move, but he doesn’t want to show his frustration. Even if he is sure that Roxas can smell it or something.

“I thought I meant something to you, but you just want to use me,” Roxas sneers, baring his teeth, his fangs, “ _again_ ,” he snarls.

“Arresting you for killing people wasn’t using you,” Axel rolls his eyes.

“Oh,” Roxas says sweetly, “you’re telling me you forgot our relationship?”

A chill runs down Axel’s spine, “that wasn’t real,”

“Wasn’t it?”

“It wasn’t me,” Axel yells, throwing his hands wide, “it was you and your,” he waves them wildly in Roxas’s general direction, “compulsion!”

“How dare you,” Roxas says, voice low and even, dangerous. He pulls himself to his feet, still significantly shorter than Axel, but just as much more menacing, “do you think I’m so pathetic, so starved for attention, that I need to force it from people?” his voice dips into a growl that makes Axel stumble backwards.

The cell is silent for a handful of moments, the only noise is Axel’s own breathing, short and heavy in the thick air.

“What has Saix done?” Roxas asks, airy and polite, a change in demeanor that sends Axel reeling.

“He’s out of control. Killing indiscriminately,” Axel says and Roxas sucks on his teeth, making a ‘tsk’ noise in disgust, “we need to find him, but,” Axel shrugs.

“And what do I get? For my services,” Roxas all but purrs, pressing close to the glass.

“The pride of a job well done,” Axel says dryly.

“Not good enough,” Roxas sing songs and dances away, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “I was thinking of something a little more… substantial.”

“I don’t have anything to give you,” Axel turns so he can fix his eyes on the wall. Roxas’s hips are distracting.

Roxas hums deep in his throat, a noise that makes Axel’s stomach do somersaults, “there’s only one thing I want,”

“What is that?”

“You,” Inevitable. Axel floats for a moment, toes caught on a precipice of a fall, air sucked out of his lungs with one simple word. He wants to scramble for purchase, for a handhold, but he’s alone and his limbs don’t work. His eyes drift back to Roxas, who has gone still, head cocked, a soft look on his face. Not the smirk Axel half expected.

“Of course,” Roxas’s voice pulls him, snapping him back into his body with jarring clarity, “I know I can’t properly have you, stuck in here as I am, but,” Roxas flattens his palm against the glass, Axel doesn’t remember him coming close again, “visits would be nice. I miss you,”

Axel thinks about saying no. About his supervisor yelling at him. About letting Saix go unchecked, killing mercilessly. About going home to his empty bed in his empty apartment in his empty life. He takes a breath through his nose, a long inhale to ground him.

Inevitable.

“What do you know?” Axel asks.

A genuine smile spreads across Roxas’s face and Axel can only imagine the way it lights up the blue in his eyes. He feels robbed.

“What do _you_ know?” Roxas’s voice is teasing, familiar.

“Not a whole lot,” Axel sighs, he wishes he had something to occupy his hands with. He pulls at a loose string on his sleeve, “the only lead we have is you,”

“Me?” Roxas’s expression is unreadable. Axel never realized how critical eyebrows were in reading someone until now.

“One of our sources says you two used to work together,”

“Ah,” Roxas’s mouth drops open a bit. It’s suddenly hard for Axel to swallow, “Saix and I have a, um, common interest,”

“And what’s that?” Axel asks, eager to get another lead, to get on the road, so he can go back to ignoring his emotions.

“Well, I really only have the one,” Roxas’s smile turns a tinge bitter, his fangs peeking out, “I’m sure you can do the math,”

-

 “I’m taking you off the case,” Eraqus isn’t a very intimidating looking person, but just give him time. As soon as he opens his mouth, he has a way of making a person feel more worthless than the handful of silver hair on his head.

“With all due respect, sir,” Axel tries to keep the exasperation out of his voice. Everyday is a test of Axel’s patience. He’s not very good at the ‘sir’ thing. Yet, unless he plans on overthrowing the rest of the FBI, he’s stuck repeating it, probably forever, “you’re the one who insisted I be on it,”

“Yes, well that was before I realized we’d be reliving the god damn past!” Eraqus slams his hands on his desk, causing Axel to jump a little.

Axel seethes, “I’ve never even met Saix, sir,” he grinds out through his grit teeth.

“Yes, well, he’s still obsessed and we all know what happened the last time a suspect was obsessed with you,” Eraqus stares him down. Shame coils in Axel’s gut.

“Vampires are very different from werewolves,” Axel says for the third time in the past hour, he runs his fingers through his hair, completely fucking up his ponytail, “besides I’m sure I can control myself if Saix decides to make a move,”

“You could die!” This is the first time Axel’s ever heard Eraqus raise his voice. It’s a little terrifying.

“That’s not the point,” Axel says, matching Eraqus’s volume, “I’m the only one Roxas will work with,”

“Yeah,” Eraqus sighs and slumps back into his chair, “well, don’t think that makes me feel any better about this,”

“You told me you didn’t have a choice!” Oh, apparently it’s Axel’s turn to raise his voice. Today is shit for his self control, “I didn’t want this case either, but now I’m on it! I don’t understand why this changes anything,” he doesn’t know why he wants the case so badly now either. It makes something settle, uncomfortable and hard, in his chest.

“It doesn’t,” Eraqus rests his forehead on his hands, “I’m just… worried. I don’t want to have to put you through this again,”

Eraqus had been the first one on the scene when Axel had arrested Roxas. He’s one of the few who really know how bad it was. But that doesn’t give him the right to just assume this will be the same.

“It will be different this time, sir,” Axel says, voice stiff, hands fisted at his sides. The entire bureau has been treating him like a child since Roxas, maybe this case would prove to them that he can handle himself.

“And I can trust you on that?” Eraqus looks up at him. Axel’s taken aback by how much older he looks with that one gaze.

“Yes, sir,” Axel’s confident about that at least. There’s no way he’ll let this Saix person get under his skin.

“Fine, but you’re getting a partner,” Eraqus pulls open one of his desk drawers and pulls out a file, “I expect you to brief him,”

“Who is it?”

“Agent Demyx,” Oh, thank god. Axel had half expected him to say Larxene and that would have been a nightmare.

Demyx is one of the few non-human agents in the bureau. He’s a mer, which explains the lack of a last name. It’s something that makes people uncomfortable. Both the mer thing and the no last name thing. Anytime someone struggles with what to call him, Demyx gets this smug look on his face, like he enjoys making humans feel wrong footed.

Demyx doesn’t care about Axel’s past, which is probably why he’s the only other agent that Axel actually gets along with. He’s a good agent too, much better than Axel at the whole investigation thing, while Axel’s strength lies more in the actual catching of the bad guys. They’re a good team.

“You’re not to go anywhere without him,” Eraqus hands Axel the folder, “even to see Roxas,”

Axel bristles, but he’s not willing to push his luck, so he just nods shortly and gets the hell out of there.

-

Axel’s running, breath coming out in short, hard pants that crystallize in front of him, sparkling before him, then coalescing into embers that burn across his face. Behind him, he can hear the deafening rustle of leaves, can feel the heat of breath on the back of his neck. He stumbles on a tree root and he falls and he falls, the dirt disintegrating into a void before his body hits it.

He lands on soft carpet, the threads creeping up his legs, his arms, and he convulses, trying to throw them off, but he’s not strong enough.

A weight settles on his hips and the carpet melts into a familiar hardwood. He looks up and sees brilliant blue.

Roxas smirks and cups Axel’s face in his hand. He runs a finger down Axel’s cheek, lingering on the skin under his eyes. Axel arches up, pressing their hips together, fingers scratching, useless, on the wood floor.

Roxas makes a satisfied rumbling sound, deep in his chest, that reverberates through the air, rippling the atmosphere. Axel can feel it in his bones, twisting through his muscle, carving out a spot in his chest, just for Roxas.

Axel gasps for breath, silent, caught in his lungs. Roxas trails his fingers over Axel’s throat, tapping a rhythm on his Adam’s Apple as he goes. In his periphery, Axel sees flames spark at the molding where the floors meet the walls.

Roxas hums, a soft, sweet sound that caresses Axel’s earlobes. He shifts lower, straddling Axel’s thighs instead of hips. The fire spreads, climbing the walls, and Roxas pushes Axel’s shirt up, exposing his stomach and the waistband on his jeans.

Roxas scratches lightly at the dark hair above Axel’s jeans and Axel writhes, hand shooting up to grasp at Roxas’s marble bicep. The fire creeps onto the ceiling.

Roxas grins down at him, filthy, then ducks down to lick a path that trails the one his fingers already carved, branding his skin with his tongue.

Axel groans, the noise shaking the foundation of the apartment, sending dust and sparks raining from the ceiling. Roxas grips his hip, tight, with one hand and uses the other to pull down his jeans, just enough to expose sharp hipbones.

Axel pushes himself up, leans on his forearms so he can see Roxas clearly. Roxas looks up at him through his eyelashes. He smiles, blinding, showing off his fangs, and with his mouth open, he presses his face into Axel’s hips. Axel can feel the scrape of teeth on skin, feels the way his breath claws at his ribs.

And Roxas bites down and the fire screams out of control, tearing apart the room, tearing apart _Axel_ , flowing through his veins, consuming.

-

Axel jerks awake, a sheen of sweat coating his skin. His hand is sore from how tight it’s gripping his gun underneath his pillow. He’s aching.

He lies there for a moment, flat out refusing to rub one out. The dreams aren’t a new thing, far from it really, but they’re not usually that intense. They don’t usually leave him feeling quite so empty, palms aching to hold onto something.

He can still feel the throb of Roxas’s teeth, buried inside him.

Axel kicks off his blanket with a violent jerk of his legs and rolls out of bed. He makes his way to the bathroom, path easily trekked even in the dark. The bathroom light is particularly blinding, shining off the white fixtures. The glare seeps into his eye sockets and he squints through it until he can handle the assault.

He splashes water from the sink on his face and grips the sides of the ceramic, leaning forward to get a closer look at his bloodshot eyes.

He looks haunted and he supposes he is a little.

He leans back and runs a hand through his wild hair, fingers catching on tangles, but he powers through them, tearing at his blood red mane. He looks in the mirror, eyes moving across the scars littering his torso.

He’s had time to get used to the slim, silver lines under his nipples, to come to terms with how they’re a part of him. Sometimes he can even appreciate them, convince himself that they make him more attractive, that they’re just proof that he’s who he wants to be.

The pink of the old wound on his side is easiest. He preens a little whenever he catches sight of it, thinks it makes him look rugged. He got it when a bullet grazed him a few years ago, while he had been pursuing a suspect. Just a regular old human, but a fun story to tell at parties nonetheless.

The bite mark, though, is just to right of his left hipbone, the furious purple still just as vivid as it was two years ago when Roxas first bit him. The doctors told him it wouldn’t fade. Vampire venom is more effective than a tattoo with how much it shapes his appearance.

Though, he has a few odd tattoos too. A sleeve on one arm, colorful tattoos that he splurged on, snaking up his right arm. Behind one of his ears, he has a simple Roman numeral eight. On his shoulder blade, a phoenix.

He likes the idea of phoenixes. Of the security in knowing that whatever happens, they’ll be able to power through it and survive.

He just has to do the same.  

-

“So,” Demyx says. He’s sitting in the passenger seat, feet on the dash, seatback reclined, “what’s this lead we’re chasing again?”

“Didn’t I already explain it?” Axel asks. He rubs his hands over the slight indents on the steering wheel. God, he wants a cigarette.

“Yeah, but I wanna make sure I remember correctly,” Demyx is drumming out a beat on his thighs, fingers tapping rhythmically. Axel can’t help but remember his dream, the way Roxas’s fingers drummed on his throat.

Axel swallows and looks out the windshield, “According to my informant-“

“Roxas, right?” Demyx asks, absentminded. Axel’s neck cracks with how quickly he whips his head around to glare at him. Demyx shrugs, a placating expression on his face, “I’m not judging! I’m just… curious,”

“If you must know,” Axel lets out a longsuffering sigh, but he flashes a grin at Demyx to let him know he’s just messing with him, “yes, it was Roxas. He told me about a warehouse that apparently used to function as Saix’s safe house. Most likely, Saix has moved shop, but it’s the biggest lead we have right now and Roxas is,” Axel hums, a sounds that’s a mixture between unsure and contempt, “hesitant to be more forthcoming,”

“I’m not surprised,” Demyx shifts, letting his feet fall to the floor of the car.

“What do you mean?” Axel asks, looking at Demyx out of the corner of his eye.

“That vamp would probably sell his soul to spend as much time with you as possible,” Demyx says, offhanded, like he didn’t just bludgeon Axel with his words.

“You’ve got it wrong,” Axel says, quiet, a little disbelieving.

“Please,” Demyx laughs. He’s tapping his feet now. His hands, having lost their prime drumming location, have otherwise occupied themselves. One is checking twitter, the other playing with the automatic window, “I was at the trial, you know,”

Axel had forgotten actually. To be fair, he tries to forget about that constantly. He’s not particularly fond of talking about himself, but he’d had to bare a lot on the stand at the trial. Just thinking about it, about the stares of the jury, makes his skin crawl.

“The kid,” Demyx says and Axel snorts because Roxas is at least forty, but okay. Demyx keeps talking over him, “was practically lifeless throughout the whole thing, like he didn’t give a shit about the outcome. He just sat there, sort of bored looking, the entire time. _Except_ the times you took the stand,” Demyx’s smile is wry, “he’s pretty smitten,”

“He’s obsessed,” Axel snarls, “there’s a difference,”

“Sure,” Demyx says easily, but Axel has a feeling he’s just humoring him.

They pull up to the warehouse not long after that. Axel’s struck by how similar it is to the compound where Roxas is being kept. It’s smaller, probably like a third of the size, but other than that it’s virtually identical.

Then again, it is just a warehouse. Warehouses look the same. Axel wishes he were alone so he could smack himself for projecting so obviously.

“This is it,” Axel says unnecessarily. Demyx has already unbuckled his seatbelt. They climb out of the car. The gravel ground crunches under Axel’s boots. He’s thankful for the noise, for the way it’s so different from the scuffing sound his boots made on smooth asphalt of the parking lot at the compound.

The doors aren’t even locked and they slide open with loud, obnoxious squeals. The warehouse certainly looks abandoned. The only sources of light are the windows near the ceiling, they cast sunlight onto the debris covered floor. Dust particles float around, lazy and aimless, caught in the rays.

Axel looks at Demyx and puts a hand on the holster at his waist. Demyx nods and mirrors the movement. They pull out their guns in a practiced move. Axel doesn’t bother flicking the safety off, but he likes the heft of the weapon, solid in his hands. They creep through the doorway.

Axel makes eye contact with Demyx and jerks his chin to the right, signaling for Demyx to take that side. Demyx goes, a steely look in his eyes that sends chills down Axel’s spine. Axel pauses for a moment, listening to the creaks of the warehouse, the sounds of the road behind him, the breaths coming from his own mouth.

He can’t hear Demyx’s footsteps, but he didn’t really expect to be able to.

Axel sets off towards the left, ears pricked for any suspicious noise. The air smells like stale dust and it makes his nose itch, but he’s not willing to take a hand off his gun to scratch it. He passes through stacks of boxes, taking each corner with caution he doesn’t usually care to show. But it becomes obvious pretty quickly that the warehouse is empty.

“Clear!” Demyx calls from his side and Axel answers with the same once he reaches the far wall.

They converge on a door to a little office off to the side. Axel puts a hand on the knob and Demyx nods at him. The door swings open without a sound, the hinges obviously shown more care than the ones to the main door.

The office is empty, even of furniture, except for a ratty looking mattress that’s covered in claw marks. The floors and walls are covered in long, angry scratches, most of them concentrated around a small, barred window. There’s a musty smell, not unlike the one in the rest of the warehouse, but it’s more pungent here.

Axel holsters his gun and there’s an elastic, snapping noise as they both put on gloves. He traces his fingertips along the gouges, noting how well they fit along them. He rubs the rough stone under his palms, letting it burn his skin.

“Axel,” Demyx says, voice wary. It’s a strange tone coming from his mouth, “come look at this,”

Axel tears himself away from the walls and goes to see what Demyx has found.

Demyx is holding the mattress tilted up so one side is off the floor, almost absentminded, with only one hand and he’s holding a sleek, black binder open in the other. It’s the only intact thing in the room and Axel cranes over Demyx’s shoulder to get a closer look.

At the moment, the binder is open to a two-page spread of stalker photos, all of Axel. None of them are of him doing anything particularly interesting.  There’s one of him carrying groceries, one of him walking down his front stoop, one of him smoking, just to name a few. They’re relatively harmless candids, if extremely fucking creepy, but it makes Axel’s hackles raise.

It reminds him, bizarrely, of Roxas. Of the way, when they first met, Roxas was obsessed with taking photos of him, with “capturing the moment, Axel, god, stop being so _boring_!”

Somehow the memory is more disconcerting than the pictures. With how Roxas talked about Saix, Axel just considers himself lucky that the room wasn’t full of his trash and old t-shirts.

“Is there any hint about where he might be hiding now?” Axel asks, sidestepping the unasked question and crouching in front of the mattress.

“Not that I can see, but maybe the lab can figure something out,” Demyx grimaces at the binder. He pulls out a large evidence bag and slides it in.

Axel runs his fingers along the underside of the mattress, feeling for anything that’s not cloth or spring. He’s just about ready to give up when his hand skates across something hard.

Axel pushes against it, testing the give and not finding much at all. He turns to Demyx, who has since started examining the scratches on the floor, and asks, “do you have a knife?”

“Hmm?” Demyx hums, distracted. The trill of it makes Axel a little dizzy, but he powers through it, “oh! Yeah, sure, here,” Demyx pulls out a dagger – an honest to god dagger, what the fuck –  and hands it over easily.

“Does the bureau know you have this?” Axel lets himself feel the heft of it in his hand. It looks like a mer artifact, the handle a deep, royal purple, textured like coral. Hell, it might _be_ coral. Demyx doesn’t answer, just flashes Axel a small, secretive smile that makes Axel laugh, loud and sudden.

Axel drops to his knees, angling so he can make a more efficient cut. The blade doesn’t so much as sink into the rough fabric as it tears through it, each serration catching and pulling and just generally giving Axel a bad time.

Each drag of the dagger sends little puffs of dust and dirt into the air that Axel is careful not to breathe in. He cuts a line just long enough to accommodate the width of whatever’s in there, then he hands the weapon back to Demyx.

It takes a little bit of talking himself up, but Axel puts his hand in there. Whatever it is, it’s smooth and hard, plastic probably. Axel gets a good grip on it and yanks.

It comes out is a shower of dust and small fluffs of cotton. It’s a Frisbee, a familiar stylized flame design dancing along the edges, faded with age and use. Axel furrows his brows, tries to convince himself there’s _no way,_ then he turns it over in his hand and see what’s written on the back.

_Property of Lea_

-

Ienzo takes one look at the two of them, Axel, who is a little bit shell shocked and green around the edges, and Demyx, who, let’s be real, is rarely affected by anything that’s not music or bad guys and is playing Flappy Bird on his phone, and let’s them know he’ll be the one to take them to Roxas today.

They had reported back to the bureau immediately, but as soon as that was over with, they hightailed it straight to the compound. Axel is in the mood for a little screaming.

He’d been hoping, vaguely, that the sight of Roxas would feel less like a sucker punch to the gut this time, but he’d been wrong.

Demyx hangs back in the corner with Ienzo and assumes his usual flippant stance. Axel appreciates the space, knows that anyone else would be breathing down his neck the entire time. Not that he needs privacy for this.

Roxas is waiting, already standing, face pointing directly at Axel, even if he can’t technically see him. His mouth is slanted with displeasure and it throws Axel off. He’d been expecting a cocky grin at worst and a mocking smirk at best.

“Axel,” Roxas says. He inhales, sharp, but deep, “you seem troubled,”

“No shit,” Axel snorts mirthlessly and runs his fingers through his hair. He watches a bit of fluff from the mattress get dislodged and flutter to the ground, “did you know?” he demands.

“Know what?” Roxas rocks on his heels, a fit of restlessness that he wouldn’t normally show.

“Don’t do that,” Axel snaps.

“Do what?”

“That!” The word bursts from Axel’s mouth with more volume than intended, but neither of them are phased by it, “play coy,” this is accompanied by some aggressive flapping of his hands, “pretend you’re some cute, innocent guy who just-“ Axel cuts himself off with a loud groan and starts pacing.

“I don’t play coy,” Roxas’s voice is calm and quiet, but Axel can pretty much hear the eyeroll. He’s pretty much the exact opposite of Axel right now. It’s actually a bit disappointing. Axel has a clear memory of some of their past arguments and Roxas always gave as good as he got in those.

“Sure,” Axel laughs, a hysteric noise that cuts through the room like glass.

“Maybe I’m just constantly confused by your vexing existence,” and there’s a little bit of the fire that attracted Axel to Roxas in the first place, the words said with such venom it takes Axel by surprise.

The room falls silent. Axel stops pacing and looks at the wall, “You don’t think I’m vexing,” Axel says, quiet, but the words feel loud.

“Oh, but I do,” Roxas says, a wry smile creeping up his face. It could almost be teasing, but it’s just crossing the line over to bitter.

Axel’s not really sure how he’s supposed to answer that, so he just stands there, staring at the wall. He can hear the sound of rustling fabric from Roxas’s cell, but he can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away.

“God, this is a mess,” Roxas laughs. It’s the most genuine one yet.

“Yeah,” Axel breathes. He lets some of the tension drain out of him, lets his fists unclench and shoulders drop.

“It hasn’t really been easy for me,” Roxas says conversationally, “being thrown in here by my boyfriend and then being left alone for _ages,_ until someone finally needed something from me,”

“You killed people,” Axel says in a low voice. He remembers having to repeat that to himself constantly years ago. Roxas did kill people. He deserves to be in prison.

“Haven’t you?” Roxas says, sharp and accusing.

Axel turns to face him, anger burning in his stomach. Roxas has moved to the small, twin-sized bed in his cell and is lying on his back, face turned to the ceiling. He looks more vulnerable like that, it makes Axel’s chest seize, “It’s not the same,” he says, “those were criminals that needed to die,”

“And what makes you so sure that my victims deserved life?” Roxas sits up. His hair is a mess. Axel wants to run his fingers through it.

“I didn’t come here for an argument about morality,” Axel says, waving a wand dismissively.

“No? What did you come here for then?” Roxas doesn’t sound curious, just tired. It makes something ache, deep in Axel’s bones.

The words are a reminder that sobers Axel instantly. Tension bleeds back into his body and he digs his nails into his palms, “the address you gave me is abandoned,” Axel says, “but we did find a few things of interest,”

 Roxas hums, a questioning sound that makes Axel bristle.

“An entire binder of stalker pictures of me,” Axel looks at his feet. He traces the shapes of the scuffs on his boots with his eyes, takes a breath, and says, “and a toy, from my childhood,”

“Ah, that,” Roxas says stiffly.

“So you did know,” Axel sighs. He’s not surprised, but he can’t really help the swell of disappointment.

“I suspected,” Roxas’s voice has gone dangerously blank, shell-shocked, “I knew he was… obsessed, but I didn’t know the extent. Not really,”

“Just how close were you to him?” Axel’s careful to keep his tone professional, something he probably should’ve been doing from the first moment he walked in here, and yet.

“Not very,” Roxas lets himself fall back, a soft thump rings through his cell, “I broke ties with him not that long after you and I got together,” Roxas says, voice lilting, practically begging Axel to take the bait.

Axel ignores it and powers through, “Cast him aside once he was no longer useful?” he asks, voice dispassionate, but a bitter taste on his tongue.

“More like he tried to maul me after our first date,” Roxas laughs, “werewolves are very emotional creatures,”

“Oh,” Axel breathes out.

“Yeah,” Roxas rolls his neck, “hurt like a motherfucker too, but,” a wild grin spreads across his face, “he’s no match for me,”

Axel shrugs off the way those words said in that voice makes his throat go dry and in an attempt to get the conversation back on track he says, “you’ve been withholding information,”

“How else am I going to make sure I see you again?” Roxas rolls out of his bed and comes to stand in front of the glass, “If you’re going to use me, then why can’t I use you?” He’s pouting, the words tinged with a whine.

“You’re putting lives in danger,” Axel throws out a hand in frustration. He doesn’t want to think about how many potential victims might have surfaced in the time they were chasing a dead lead.

“Since when have I cared about that?” Roxas smiles, slow and sweet, “since when have _you_ cared about that?”

A chill snakes its way through Axel’s veins, “It’s my job to care,”

“Yeah, but you don’t,” Roxas all but purrs. Axel’s heart races, beating a staccato rhythm against his sternum. Roxas tilts his head, listening, then continues, flippant, “besides, what are you going to do to me? Throw me in jail? Oh, wait,”

“If you don’t give us something that’s actually helpful, you’ll never see me again,” Axel means it too. Or at least he believes he does.

Roxas stares him down, or he does his best attempt at it while blindfolded. Axel can practically see him weighing his options, trying to determine if this is a bluff. Roxas juts his chin out, mouth twisting in contempt, and says, “he’s probably sticking pretty close to you. Last I knew he lived a block over. On 7th street.” Roxas says laboriously, like each word was clawed from his throat.

“Thank you,” Axel says and angles a bit, ready to take off, “I’ll be back soon,”

“You’re leaving already?” Roxas’s voice halts him in his tracks. It’s low and sad, desolate, “right,” he huffs out, “of course you are,” Axel looks back, sees Roxas hunched in on himself, and guilt grips at his throat. He sends a look over at Demyx who shrugs.

Axel takes that for permission and says, “I can stay for a bit, I guess,”

Roxas’s smile is worth the way his head is screaming at him to get out of there.

-

“Alright, I’m a little creeped out now,” Demyx says, giving the door an apprehensive look. They had spent a few hours following Roxas’s lead, checking all of the residences on 7th street until they found the apartment where Saix used to live. Then they found out a forwarding address from the landlord, went to the next apartment, repeated the process, then they ended up here. In the same building Axel lives in.

“Just now? What took you so long,” Axel says, a playful smirk that he doesn’t really feel fixed on his face.

“Everything else was,” Demyx’s face scrunches up and he waves a hand, “coming on strong, but not exactly uncommon in my culture,”

Axel raises an eyebrow, disbelief coloring his words, “really,” he says flatly.

“We’re a pretty aggressive species, don’t let the Disney movies deceive you,” Demyx grins and Axel reels for a second. Demyx’s mouth is full of razor sharp teeth, but he blinks and they’re normal again, flat and harmless.

“Right,” Axel’s voice is a little shaky, but Demyx has returned to his usual careless self, “Shall we?” he raises a hand to knock.

“Let’s do it,” Demyx puts a hand on his holster and nods decisively.

Axel knocks, three hard raps that echo ominously through the hallway. The muted sounds of movement come from inside and Demyx’s flips open his holster. The door swings open and Axel’s heart stops.

“Isa?”

Axel hasn’t seen Isa since they were teenagers. He thought he was dead. Isa’s parents told Axel he was dead. Mauled by werewolves, they’d said.

“Saix,” Demyx growls. And yeah of course. They hadn’t known what Saix looked like, the most they were able to gather were vague descriptions (blue hair, scarred face.) Axel never imagined this.

At least this explains how he got that Frisbee.

“Lea,” Saix says, lofty and unconcerned.

Rage pools at the base of Axel’s spine, “don’t call me that,” he spits out, fists clenching, ready to throw some punches.

Demyx flicks a look to Axel. He must be able to tell that Axel isn’t going to be taking charge here, so he pulls out his gun, steps forward and says, “Saix, you’re under arrest,”

Saix just hums, noncommittal, then in one fluid move, he reaches out, fists a hand in the collar of Axel’s shirt, yanks him inside the apartment, and slams the door.

“What the fuck?” Axel yells, hands scrambling uselessly at Saix’s grip on him while Saix flips a ridiculous amount of locks shut.

There’s a loud bang as Demyx throws his shoulder at the door. It rattles, but remains otherwise unmoved.

“You left me,” Saix says in a low, dangerous voice. He drags Axel bodily into the next room, the bedroom, and throws him on the bed.

“You died,” Axel pulls himself into a sitting position and stares Saix right in the eye. Saix stands at the foot of the bed, seemingly content to just watch.

“You _left_ me,” Saix’s voice is tinged with desperation, it makes something crack and splinter in Axel’s chest. He starts pacing the room and while his back is turned, Axel puts a hand on his gun and angles his hips so it’s out of sight.

“What happened to you?” Axel asks, trying to stall. He can still hear Demyx trying to break down the door, and surely by now he’s called for backup. He really doesn’t want to have to shoot his childhood best friend today.

A little part of him is delighted by the irony. He shot his boyfriend not too long ago, why not shoot everyone else that’s ever been important to him?

“I got stronger,” Saix glances back at Axel. His eyes gleam, bright yellow. The banging on the door stops, almost too abruptly. Axel cranes his neck, trying to see past Saix into the other room, but nothing looks out of place.

The fact that nothing looks out of place is weirder than if the apartment was a mess. It looks like anyone could live here. Not his dead best friend slash serial killer slash werewolf.

Saix tilts his head, considering, then circles around to the side of the bed. Axel uses his feet to push himself back, trying to put some distance between them, “So you started killing people?”

Saix kneels on the bed, “I needed to get your attention,” he reaches out and presses Axel down by his shoulder, so Axel is flat on the bed. Axel cries out and his hand flies off his gun, so he can use both to try and push Saix off him, but Saix doesn’t budge.

“You know, we have these great inventions called cell phones,” Axel says while trying to twist out of Saix’s grip.

“You’re mine,” Saix rumbles in his chest, lowering his face so it’s only inches from Axel, “even if you have been marked,” his eyes flick up to Axel’s hair and he bares his teeth in distaste.

Saix traces a finger along Axel’s jaw, his nail scratching lightly. Axel jerks his head away, but it just makes Saix grab him, pressing his fingers into Axel’s chin, hard enough to bruise, making Axel gasp, “You’re insane,” he says.

“I’m not going to let that little vampire have you,” Saix breathes hot breath on Axel’s face. Axel swallows against the bile rising in his throat.

“He doesn’t _have_ me,” Axel inches his hand back to his holster. There’s not a lot else he can do now. Saix has rendered him basically immobile.

“Really,” Saix says more than asks. He sits back on Axel’s hips and caresses the cloth that covers Axel’s chest. Abruptly, he grips the fabric tight and pulls, ripping it from his chest.

Axel breathes heavy underneath him, flinches away as Saix presses a hand against the mark that Roxas left when he bit him. Axel’s breath catches in his throat as he watches Saix’s nails grow long and sharp, until they’re more animal than human.

“What are you doing?” Axel’s not able to keep the franticness out of his voice. He scrambles at his holster, trying not to be too obvious about it and Saix’s raises a claw, ready to strike.

The front door bangs loudly, startling both of them. It bangs again. It’s much louder than when it was just Demyx, which means they brought a battering ram.

Saix frowns, “I’ll come back for you,” he promises, a wild glint in his eye. And he strikes, his claws cutting through Axel’s chest. Then he’s gone, off the bed and working at the latch on the window.

Axel yells out in pain and curls in on himself a little. He pulls out his gun, gasping for breath and takes aim. His shot goes wide, cutting through the wood of the window frame, and Saix is gone.

-

“You’re hurt,” Roxas sounds concerned, his hands flitting, useless, over the glass of his cell, “what happened?”

“Saix,” Demyx says. He’s standing at the line with Axel this time, no longer content to just let things happen apparently. Axel tries not to feel betrayed by this.

Roxas lets out a strangled, seething, sound. He stalks up and down the front of the glass, twisting his hands together, “why are you here?” he asks at last.

“We need to know where Saix is going next,” Axel says, trying not to wince at how the words pull at the wounds on his chest.

“Why do you think I would know anything about that?” Roxas asks, exasperated.

“Well,” Demyx says, “you’ve already proven how good you are at withholding information,”

“I told you everything,” Roxas growls. He bangs a hand on the glass in frustration.

‘Sure,” Axel steps forward, just on the other side of the line, “but you can track him, can’t you?”

Roxas goes still, “You’re not suggesting…”  

“We’re not,” Demyx pulls Axel back, but he steps forward, further than Axel. He stops in front of the food slot and raises one of the shirts they took from Saix’s apartment, “but we want to know what you can get from this,”

“I’m not a dog,” Roxas snarls and turns away.

“We’re not saying you are,” Demyx pulls open the slot and puts the shirt inside. As soon as he closes it, Roxas freezes, going deathly still. He turns his head to Demyx, his brows furrowed.

“What is this?” Roxas asks.

“Whatever you want it to be,” Demyx steps back over the line. Axel shoots him a look. He’s not used to this cryptic side of Demyx.

Roxas cocks his head and picks up the shirt, carefully bundling it his arms, “You know,” Roxas says softly, bringing the shirt to his face, “there’s a guard here that reminds me of you, Axel,” Roxas breathes Axel’s name. His voice ties Axel’s stomach into knots.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Axel asks, clenching his fists.

Roxas’s lip curls into a smirk, “Nothing,” he says. He inhales deeply, breathing in the scent of the shirt and whatever else might be clinging to it.

Axel and Demyx share a look. This is their last chance at a lead. Axel’s really not looking forward to becoming bait if Roxas can’t give them anything from this.

“Do you have anything?” Axel asks after a few minutes of stillness, the only noise Roxas’s sharp inhalations.

“Maybe,” Roxas inhales again, the rise of his chest drawing Axel’s eyes. Axel remembers lying on him, pressing his ear to Roxas’s torso, being lulled to sleep by the ripples of his breath, “I won’t be able to give you an exact address you know,” he says.

“We know,” Demyx says.

“I can smell saltwater,” Roxas says, “and gunpowder,”

“The docks?” Axel asks.

“Maybe,” Demyx grins and bounces on his toes, “Oh, he’s going to regret being so close to the ocean,”

Axel returns the smile and says to Roxas, “Thank you,” voice sincere.

“Be careful,” Roxas’s voice is almost pleading, “you promised me visits. I except to see you here within the week,”

“Sure thing,” Axel’s overcome with the urge to press his hand against the glass, but luckily Demyx stops him, fingers curling around his bicep.

“Let’s go,”

-

They have to report back, pick up some bullet proof vests and weapons, because they couldn’t bring them to the compound, but they also couldn’t leave them in the car. Reinforcements might also be a good idea, but Axel knows, with Demyx on his side, a showdown at the docks wouldn’t be able to end badly for them. He’s itching to get out there and hopefully land a few punches this time.

“You’re not going,” Of course he wasn’t expecting that.

Eraqus had stalked into the equipment room, just as Axel was pulling on a bullet proof vest, which is unfortunate because the movement caused his stitches to pull and Axel couldn’t contain his wince.

“I thought we agreed that I need to be on this case?” Axel straightens up and tries to look as competent as possible. The unimpressed look Eraqus gives him tells him he failed.

“That was before you got mauled,” Eraqus’s tone is teasing, but his expression is stony and serious. If Axel was a different agent, he’d probably stand down. Too bad he’s Axel.

“I wasn’t mauled!” He really wasn’t. The cuts on his chest were just enough to require stitches, but they weren’t that bad.

“Regardless,” Eraqus says, dismissive.

“I need to be out there,” Axel shifts on his feet and folds his arms across his chest. He really doesn’t want to be stuck here, knowing that Saix is out there, possibly killing people, possibly killing Demyx, and probably coming for him next.

“Why?” Eraqus says, more angry than curious. He’s testing Axel and it makes him bristle in defiance.

“It’s me he wants. It’s my responsibility,” which isn’t really something Axel’s cared about before and they all know it. He’s lucky enough not to have anyone call him on it though.

“And you’re _my_ responsibility. I’m not letting you get hurt again,” Eraqus’s tone leaves no room for argument. Axel tries anyway.

“So you’re making Demyx go alone?” he’s grasping at straws now. Demyx could probably take out an entire gang on his own if he was close enough to a body of water. He’d stand a pretty good chance even if the closest water was fifty miles away.

“He can take Sora,” Eraqus waves a flippant hand. Sora is one of the rookie agents, but he’s probably more talented when it comes to apprehending criminals than all of them put together.

Axel deflates, slouching against the wall, “And I’m supposed to just sit here and wait?”

“Yes,” Eraqus says sharply, “And hey, you can catch up on paperwork in the meantime,” his smile is cutting. It makes Axel’s mouth twist in anger.

Axel can’t just sit here at his desk and work when he knows that there’s a fight somewhere out there with his name on it. He pushes himself off the wall and takes a step forward, “But-“

“It’s either this,” and oh, fuck, Eraqus is doing that scary thing where his voice is calm, but he’s planning your murder in his head, “or I have your badge. Your choice,”

Axel stands there in shock for a moment, honestly contemplating the likelihood of him being about to do this without losing his gun. But he knows that if he were to try then Eraqus would just have him detained for his _safety._

This time, the words are even harder to say than usual, each syllable carved from his tongue with painful precision, “Yes, sir,” he says.

The next few hours are going to be hard.

-

Axel is sitting at his desk, seething. He’s a damn field agent, he’s not good at the other stuff that comes along with that, yet here he is, being forced to do them.

He’s not actually getting much work done at all. He’s been staring at the same line on this form for about half an hour. Ever since he watched Demyx and Sora leave, decked out in gear, both of them bouncing excitedly out the door.

The thought makes his eye twitch.

He’s pulled out of his attempt to work by Eraqus summoning him to his office. Axel tries not to groan when he goes, but it’s a hard battle.

“You wanted to see me?” Axel asks, after knocking and being granted permission to enter. He steps inside and is caught off guard by the two strange men standing in front of Eraqus’s desk. One of them isn’t particularly interesting, broad shoulders, bald head, impeccable suit, but the other.

The other is almost like looking in a mirror. Everything from the red hair and slanted green eyes to his posture, the way he’s carrying himself, like he knows what he looks like and doesn’t give a fuck about what assumptions other people might make about him. But, he’s probably willing to fight them about it anyway.

Axel wonders, vaguely, about the history of his hair color.

“Ah, Agent Keahi, this is Mr. Rude,” Eraqus gestures to the bald guy, “and Mr. Reno,” then to the redhead.

“Please,” Reno shoots him an easy smirk, “just call me Reno,” he extends a hand and Axel takes it, giving it a good, hard shake.

“This is weird,” Eraqus says and looks at Rude, like he expects agreement, but Rude just stares at him blankly, “right, well,” Eraqus clears his throat, “these gentlemen have something to tell us,” Eraqus says. Reno sends a grin to Rude, like something about this situation is hilarious.

“We work for the compound,” Rude says in a gruff voice. Axel looks at Eraqus and raises an eyebrow, wondering what this could possibly be about.

“One of our prisoners has escaped,” Reno says, still looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like he doesn’t care that his words turned Axel’s blood into ice. Not the sleek, smooth ice either, more like shards.

“Which one?” Eraqus snaps, standing abruptly. Like he doesn’t already know.

“Roxas,” Axel says. It’s not a question, but Reno nods anyway.

“Somehow he got his hands on some blood,” Reno says, “Not a lot, but just enough for him to get enough strength to take off his blindfold,” his posture is still easy, but his tone belies the levity of the situation.

“From there it was pretty easy for him to just walk out of there,” Rude says.

Axel can picture it. He doesn’t know where the blood came from, but he can see it. Roxas biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to use his inhuman strength to tear apart his blindfold. He imagines the screech that the metal would make.

He wonders if Roxas was angry enough to warp the blindfold even more in a fit of anger, crumble the metal into a misshapen ball in his hands. Maybe even use it as a weapon or to break the glass of his cell.

After that, all he’d have to do is turn to the nearest guard, maybe Braig, maybe one of these men in this room. Then he’d say something like, “Let me out,” and the guard would do it, no questions asked, just because Roxas told them to.

Axel wonders where he is right now. Wonders why he’s not with him.

“Axel?” Eraqus says, snapping Axel out of his introspection. The others are all looking at him with concern. Axel gets the feeling that that’s not the first time his name was said.

“We need to get him back,” Axel says numbly.

“ _You_ are going home,” Eraqus says, “there is a reason the phrase _‘conflict of interest’_ exists,”

“But, sir!” Axel says, desperation coloring his voice.

“No, you need to sit this one out,” Eraqus rubs a hand down his face, he looks tired, “I will not let you jeopardize yourself again,”

“I don’t see how that’s your decision, sir,” Axel grits out through his teeth.

“Your badge says it’s my decision,” Eraqus says.

Axel stares him down. He knows he’s serious, but the stakes are so high. Axel doesn’t know what he would do if Roxas started killing again. He can’t help but feel like this is his fault, even though, logically, he knows that he didn’t help Roxas escape.

Finally, he says, “at least let me stay here and help,”

“No,” the word cuts through Axel’s chest, just as sharp as Saix’s claws, “you need to rest. When was the last time you slept?”

Axel honestly doesn’t know. It was probably sometime before they found Saix. His silence is telling and it makes Eraqus sigh, long and tired.

“Go home,” Eraqus says, “that’s an order,”

-

“It’s all clear,” Riku comes out of Axel’s apartment and holsters his gun, “Are you sure you don’t want us to stay?”

“Positive,” Axel says. He doesn’t want to be babied. He just wants to be left alone long enough for him to catch Roxas.

“Alright,” Riku doesn’t sound convinced, but he leaves nonetheless, taking the rest of the agents and some of the tension in Axel’s shoulders with him.

Axel rolls his neck and pushes himself off the wall. He lets himself into his apartment. He debates for a moment about just leaving the lights off, so he can sit for a moment by himself and just ignore the rest of the world, but decides it doesn’t make much sense. He flicks the light on and almost jumps out of his skin.

Roxas is lounging on his couch, slouched down low, legs spread wide, inviting, the very picture of contentment. His eyes are covered in a strip of white cloth and he’s still dressed in the dull grey of the prison uniform, but it’s been stained dark with blood.

Axel aches with how much he wants to go over there.

Once he’s recovered enough from the shock, swallowed a few times, he says, “how did you…“ he can’t even finish the sentence. Isn’t even sure what he would ask. How did he get in? How did he escape? How did he avoid Riku?

“Axel,” Roxas grins brightly, “what took you so long?”

“I was at work,” Axel says slowly. He inches away from the door, hugging the wall. He’s not really sure what he should do in this situation.

Roxas’s grin turns into a pout, “but I took care of that for you,” he says, voice petulant.

“Took care of what?” Axel tries to think of what he can use as a weapon. His gun is all but useless against vampire. The most it will do is slow him down and get him angry. He has a stake in his bedroom, but there’s no way Roxas will let him get that far.

“Saix,” Roxas says simply and Axel stops in his tracks. He takes in the sight of Roxas again, notes the bloodstained clothes.

“You killed him,” It’s not a question. Axel knows the answer. It doesn’t upset him as much as he thinks it probably should.

“He deserved it. You thought so too, don’t lie,” Roxas waves a hand dismissively. Axel frowns, but Roxas is right. Saix killed more people than Roxas had. Plus, Demyx and Sora had left with guns full of silver bullets. He hadn’t really expected Saix to survive the night.

Plus, Saix isn’t Isa. Not anymore.

“Why are you here?” Axel asks, looking intently at Roxas. Roxas hasn’t moved since Axel walked in. He’s still lounging, his head tilted, exposing his neck.

“Why do I do anything?” Roxas cocks his head to the side and smiles softly, “I’m here for you,”

Axel supposes this was just as inevitable as everything else. From the moment he set foot in the compound, it was just a matter of time before Roxas escaped. And now, here they are, at a stalemate in the middle of Axel’s apartment. Only a few feet away from where Roxas first bit him.

“How did you escape?” Axel asks at last.

“Your mer friend,” Roxas says, like they’re talking about the weather and not about Axel being betrayed by someone he considered a friend.

“You controlled him?” Axel asks, because that has to be it, right? The only possibility.

“No,” Roxas says, and ouch, that hurts, “even I can’t enthrall people without making eye contact,”

“Then how?” Axel asks.

“He bled a little, on the shirt he gave me,” Roxas plucks at his own blood covered shirt, as if Axel needs the visual aid, “it wasn’t a lot. Just enough to do something,”

“Why?” Axel says, more to himself than to Roxas.

“I imagine he probably felt bad for me,” Roxas laughs, but it’s a pained, empty sound, “Mer and vampires have very similar powers you know, when it comes to compulsion,”

“So, what?” Axel steps forward, “you were conspiring together?”

“Or maybe,” Roxas says slowly, making sure Axel understands each word, “he realized that I love you,” Axel’s suddenly brought back to the last time Roxas told him that.

It was before Axel knew Roxas was a vampire, a killer. It might have been in this room even. Right before Axel left for work that day. Roxas looked up at him, smiled that smile that made (makes) Axel’s stomach do somersaults. He said those words then pulled him down into a kiss.

The next time Axel saw Roxas, he knew about the murders and the confrontation that followed ended in a blood, prison, and a whole new hair color.

“He wanted to give me a chance to prove that I didn’t control you back then,” Roxas is still talking, not having noticed that Axel’s mind wandered.

“Didn’t you, though?” Axel yells, a little hysteric, because he can’t deal with the alternative. With loving a killer and then also sending the man he loved to jail.  

“No!” with a flash, Roxas is no longer on the couch, but instead he’s inches in front of Axel, “Can’t you tell? That’s why I’m wearing this!” he gestures wildly at the blindfold he’s wearing, “So I can prove what you’re feeling is real,”

“And what is it I’m feeling?” Axel asks, stepping back until his back hits the wall.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Roxas asks and yanks Axel down by his hair for a kiss.

 And oh, god, Axel forgot what Roxas’s hands felt like when they were on him. They sear his skin, like dry ice, or maybe more like something that conducts electricity, because once they’re touching, Axel can’t bring himself to pull away, he’s stuck there, held in place by electrocution.

Axel brings a hand up so he can cup Roxas’s face, fingers brushing the soft cloth of the blindfold, so he can tilt his head and deepen the kiss. Roxas allows it for a minute, but soon, too soon, he pushes away.

They stand there for a moment, Roxas deathly still and Axel trying to get a hold of his breathing. Axel hasn’t really allowed himself to miss this, to miss Roxas, but god, did he ever.

“You see?” Roxas says, smug smile curving his lips, “I didn’t make you do that,”

Axel looks at him, notes the way he’s standing, hips tilted away, almost defensive. Like maybe he’s expecting a rejection despite everything.

“You’re still a criminal,” Axel says, hating the way his voice sounds breathless, but also desperately wanting to reach out and pull Roxas into another kiss.

“You say that like it’s not exciting to you,” Roxas reaches out and strokes Axel’s jaw. Axel doesn’t pull away.

“I work in law enforcement,” Axel points out.

“For the excitement, not the morals,” Roxas wraps a hand around the back of Axel’s neck. He doesn’t pull, just leaves it there, his fingers rubbing lightly at the short hairs at the edge of Axel’s hairline.

Axel grins, sharp and a little feral, “you always knew me better than anyone else,” he says and Roxas hums in agreement.

“Come here,” Roxas says and Axel goes, ducking down for another kiss. Roxas stumbles backwards, pulling Axel away from the wall, towards the bedroom. Once there, he spins them around and shoves Axel on the bed.

Axel lets himself fall, happy to let Roxas take control here. Roxas climbs into his lap and grins at him, fangs and all, it pulls at his blindfold, drawing Axel’s eyes to the strip of white. It doesn’t look right.

“Let me fix that for you,” Axel says with more confidence than he feels. He reaches up with trembling fingers and undoes the knot. The blindfold falls away and Roxas blinks his brilliant blue eyes open.

Axel feels exactly the same. Like this was all inevitable.

As Roxas pushes him down on the bed, Axel finally thinks he might be okay with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case anyone was wondering, Keahi is a Hawaiian surname (one of my fave Axel headcanons is that he's from Hawaii) and I believe it means 'fire.'
> 
> I'm @TrenchWarfaire on twitter and that's where I mostly talk about writing stuff and I post drabbles on there a lot, so please feel free to follow me!


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